


White Pawn to D4

by thebluehedgehog



Category: RWBY
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebluehedgehog/pseuds/thebluehedgehog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinder knows that power comes from influence, and before she can even start the game she needs to have enough of both to become a player. Before Vale she was in Atlas, the world stronghold of technology and Dust, rubbing shoulders and testing her cards. She was there to study the other players' style, unaware that her first move in the game was going to play itself.</p><p>The opening chess move of "pawn to D4" is called "Queen's Pawn Game", and in chess white is always played first.</p><p>This is a platonic WhiteAsh (AKA SnowFall, Puddle, Fallen Snow, White Cinders, Cold Coals) fic written in third-person limited from Weiss's perspective. I started writing this before Winter's model/art was revealed, so this is a partial AU due to Winter being the younger sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mask

          Weiss stole a moment to stare at her reflection; her handmaiden standing in the doorway, blocked by the door she held open, waited without a word but that could only last for a few seconds. Starting at her hips, Weiss carefully stacked her vertebrae with an inhale, ending in a roll of her shoulders. Her exhale saw her posture settling into place, visibly rounding it off into something vaguely reminiscent of a casual posture, accompanied by a smile so subtle only the softening of her cheeks indicated it. Her hand rose, fingertips hovering just over the start of her hairline; she brought it down deliberately, pausing only under her chin before her arm dropped, the expression wiped from her face. Though they never grazed her painted skin, she felt that light touch and the weight that followed. Her mask for the night was in place.

          The heiress passed the young woman who had helped her get dressed, although now with little recognition of familiarity. Behind her the door closed, but the heiress paid it no heed as she made small, light, lithe steps down the hallway she knew well. When she reached the point where the house wing of the manor met the others, for the estate was built with six branching corridors that met at a central point, she turned left toward the wing whose function was primarily for entertaining, which she typically saw only once every month or two. She could not recall if she had been told where to make her entrance, and possibly wouldn't know where that door was anyway; once in the proper wing the movements of staff and tendrils of noise leaking from behind doors were always enough to guide her into position.

          Stalled before the large, ash wood doors, the heiress visualised the scene beyond so vividly that the light wood need not be opened to reveal it. Her eyes traced the lines of texture, her hands far beyond any need to reach out or even twitch to feel the smooth polish and pointed edges of the engravings. More than two years had passed since she first stood before a set of these doors, ready to be presented, her father at her side; it was premature at 13, it should have been earlier this year, but pressure on her father had led it to be pushed earlier. Winter was to wait, much to her dismay for the allure of dresses and socialising was fanciful to her, sheltered from the practicality of it all; at her birthday her pleas will likely be renewed in earnest with claims that her sister had debuted at her age.

          A servant each, the doors slid to either side, revealing the expected display of expensive clothing adorning well-groomed people of society from which a hum of conversation was emitted below her. The heiress stepped forward, halfway to the railing of the ornate staircase, presenting herself before the guests that hushed and turned one-by-one despite the well-oiled doors failing to announce her. Hair bound to one side, decorated but free to hang down, served as a complement to the flawless gown with its pleasing aesthetic of asymmetry. Contrary to her father's wishes, however, her hair was pulled to the right, highlighting the scar over her left eye. It had been concluded sometime before her first descent of these steps that her hair long and unbound highlighted her youth, capable of giving her freedom for minor mistakes and encouraged guests to drop their guard around her; she presented her scar silently so that her words might be granted consideration more than casual dismissal.

          The heiress, having garnered a sufficient amount of the guests' attention, descended the ornate staircase to the right, a gloved hand hovering over the banister. A melody independent of any composed song wafted through the room, dominated by strings, serving to highlight the current atmosphere of introductions and light mingling. With limited time until the meal was served each guest had a duty to meet with certain acquaintances, not one free from careful observations on how much time was spent with any other. The heiress had the advantage of not needing to seek out many of hers; a line had already begun at the bottom of the staircase. Her hand was offered to the first, her face warping into a smile as he took it and she spoke his name.

          Those interactions were relatively short, a few lines of small talk apart from greetings and some mercifully accepted a group conversation if they wanted the benefit of additional time. However, the people it was imperative she meet with had not sought her out, understanding too well that she would seek them out in time. The heiress had yet to locate the head of Schnee Dust Company, but had dared not look around the room whilst speaking with guests. She adroitly side-stepped a woman eager to speak with her and carefully entered a conversation between the head of the Mining Regulations Board and the wife of an affluent land-owner that had seemed to reach an impasse.

          Twas a simple matter for her entrance to shift the conversation to polite topics. Using practiced finesse the heiress turned the conversation to the head of the Mining Regulations Board and without much wasted time offhandedly mentioned her father's trouble with a mine to the east of Atlas. She allowed just enough time for him to cast off the idea of business and bothers before emphatically insisting he follow her to meet the lovely daughter of an Atlesian Air Force Brigadier General, set to marry the son and heir to the largest shipping company in the kingdom. His hesitation, vocalised by claiming that he was a simple public servant in outmatched company, was respectfully ignored by the heiress as she remarked favourably on the match.

          The heiress flitted around the ballroom in a similar fashion. She introduced a new member of the building regulations committee to the owner of an array of factories and warehouses, starting them on a conversation about innovations in material strength. A charming young man climbing ranks in the Royal Tax Commission, the branch that covers the whole kingdom, introduced himself to her with a kiss of her hand and feigned a blush when his companion added that his mother was decorated in the military and heir to a manufacturing corporation. As time ran low she greeted a group of debutantes nearest her own age as though they were old friends, sliding into a conversation of potential suitors but not contributing.

          Soon the music changed, the pace quickening and volume increasing, politely interrupting conversations. Guests split off from the small groups, finding their place settings among the tables that lined the hall. Servants brought in a few additional tables, already set, with great care and skill as space opened up. Along her way to the head table, the heiress was slowed by guests determined to have their moment but she kept them as brief as she cordially could. The head table had few differences from the others, located centred before the stage and at it seating Mr. Schnee along with the other most respectable people of Atlas, yet it was effortless to distinguish it amongst the sea of round, white-clothed tables.

          The dinner was a many-course business affair, the main event of the evening regardless of any pretences. Mr. Schnee directed much of the conversation while his dutiful daughter, sitting across from him, listened quietly or engaged anyone who had grown too argumentative. While her manners were rigid and precise, his gave an air of comfort and nonchalance that softened his imposing societal stature. The head table was still sipping warm beverages after dessert as people at other tables found themselves on the dance floor or moving seats to meet with another associate. By the time the head table had stood and concluded business most of the guests were moving around; the extra tables, along with some others, had been removed, their chairs added to the remaining tables.

          The heiress quickly found herself descended upon by the usual line of suitors and lobbyists the moment the music turned to recognised dance pieces. Each was allowed a single dance, attempts at a second were treated only as jokes, accepted with grace and ended with gratitude and a curtsy. The bulk of the list, containing a sparse few she was not familiar with, got their turn before she respectfully declined the next, requesting a break. The man genially walked her to an empty table and went to send a waiter with water over but did not return himself, content to converse with other guests until his turn came, a gesture not unnoticed by the heiress, who smiled as she sipped from the glass.

          The crisp liquid moistened her tongue and cooled her cheeks, aching from the well-practiced smiles. She watched rainbows form from twirling dresses across the ballroom, led by smart, well-fitted suits. The beats of soft steps, made audible only by their number, accentuated the music that continued tirelessly. After another absentminded drink from the glass, condensation drenching her hand, her eyes glazed over as they followed the rhythmic movement of the skirts. The scrape of a chair across from her highlighted how nice yet odd it was that she had been given a moment of peace; attention brought back to the present she found her new companion was a young woman, older than herself, wearing a long, red dress, simple in cut but elegant, which covered the tops of her arms in short sleeves and was accessorised with only a muted, yellow scarf tight around her neck, the ends of which trailed behind her. Stranger still, the woman sat in the seat across from her sideways, one arm resting on the back, facing the ballroom with not so much a glance at the heiress.

It was the end of the next song before the heiress turned back to the woman and finally broke the silence between them with a smile and a simple, "Hello."

"Hello Ms. Schnee, how do you do?" replied the woman, peeling her attention from the dance floor to the hostess, adding a small bow of her head in lieu of a curtsey. Her unnaturally dark hair, in stark contrast to the heiress's, seemed eager to remain over the front of her shoulder regardless of the red bow that tied it back and that it was nearly too short to rebel.

"I am fine, thank you, and yourself? Are you enjoying this soiree?"

"Well, thank you for asking. Very much so, your house is very skilled at planning grand events."

"Ah, you are too kind, but I shall be sure to pass on the compliment."

          The guest's attention drifted back to the revellers, seeming to have no interest in forcibly carrying the conversation or promoting a particular topic. The heiress's attention lingered, disturbed that she could not recall the name of this woman. Curiosity and an unwillingness to be at a disadvantage eventually winning out over the desire to not present as unprepared, she worked herself up to ask.

"Pardon my ignorance, but I cannot seem to recall your name."

The woman turned, her torso following her head, a smile showing that she took no offence. "You may call me Aschelle tonight. Aschelle of the family Glas."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aschelle of Glas."

"The pleasure is mine."

          The silence between them returned, both focused on observing the other guests, but it was not uncomfortable, at least not for the heiress that savoured the momentary pause in expectations to carry on conversation. The song drew to a close but another did not fill its place. It was time for the band's break. A lone violinist stood centred on the stage and began to play a calm, winding tune. Guests disbursed from the dance floor, dancers finding bystanders, and conversation picking up throughout the hall. Servants streamed in with trays of beverages, trays of canapés to come next. Predictably, there was soon a crowd around the heiress, including in chairs turned from near-by tables.

"Yes, the mountain towns are lovely but the security is woeful and this time of year the lower regions begin to face flooding." said Aschelle, turning toward the heiress as the pairs and trios of suitors, along with businesspeople not quite important enough to disturb the head of house found themselves near the two young ladies.

Surprised, the heiress hid it within a smile. "Of course, of course, but there is something undeniable about the air there, no?"

          A few of the newcomers attempted to join the discussion, but did not press the issue. A few peeled off as they started their own version of it, while those on the outer rings of the group had struck up conversation from introductions. It was a short back-and-forth before the two ladies allowed the others to insert themselves, either by mention of property, travels, or regulations on the two. Despite the inevitability of the conversation turning to serious matters, Aschelle and the heiress took turns slowing it down with a comment toward lighter topics. Just as the topic was shifting from simple debate to a meeting of contradicting opinions the band returned to the stage marked by a modest round of clapping.

Aschelle stood while tapping her hands together lightly, then turned to the heiress. "May I have this dance?" she asked, offering a hand over the table to the younger woman. Her arm extended past another, recently debuted, between the two of them in age.

"I believe I owe a song to Lieutenant General Grunewald first," she replied, indicating a man standing not far from her, "but I can offer you the next." she suggested before adding to the group, "I would be remiss, however, to leave my friend here alone." The heiress swallowed a bad taste from her mouth, despite it being imaginary; that word had felt strange, perhaps it had too commonly become a word to use falsely, was it used differently now?

          Several people eagerly volunteered, including a woman about Aschelle's age that headed a line of breweries, giving her quite the selection to choose from. Many had done so to win favour in the eyes of the heiress, including the woman, but the black-haired woman in the red dress failed to even look at them; easily picking out the volunteers that had taken an interest in her, with a smile to one that had not volunteered, she offered her hand to a young man who had. He took it, as did L.G. Grunwald the heiress's, and the two new friends were led to the dance floor.

          Many dances later some guests had retired for the night and behind the thinned crowd the heiress and Aschelle Glas once again sat at an otherwise empty table, this time only a single chair apart. Even the music had switched to less energetic melodies. Across the room, drunken laughter boomed from someone in the group around Mr. Schnee, even they had returned to a table for their discussions. Aschelle and the heiress were each sipping a sparkling beverage, again without needing to hold a conversation, watching the people with business agendas slowly concede and leave while revellers attempted to remain steady on the dance floor.

"I should get going, I have an early lesson in the morning." Aschelle announced.

"Oh? Must you? How unfortunate."

"Yes, I have enjoyed your company very much, but the world doesn't stop for a party." she said as she stood up.

Weiss stood up in response, "Thank you for joining me, it was a pleasure. Would you like me to walk you out?"

"No thank you, I recall the way. Have a good night."

"Good night to you as well." The heiress hesitated, tempted to kiss her cheek as one does with favoured people but Aschelle was already two paces away. She settled for one last remark, "Hopefully it won't go much later." It was a personal statement, something beyond pleasantries and business politics.

 

* * *

 

          In less than an hour the heiress had been excused for the night and reached the threshold to her rooms. Her handmaiden was there, but did not appear to have been waiting long. She was handed a warm cloth as she sat down and scrubbed her face while the handmaiden began unclasping the dress. Weiss sighed and rolled her now-free shoulders as she placed the cloth on the table and removed her shoes. The handmaiden had proceeded to unlacing the corset before she spoke.

"How was your evening?"

Weiss's tired face pulled upward with a hint of a smile, "Not much different than most events, but there was this one woman I met."

"Oh? Someone new?"

"I believe so. I do not recall meeting her previously but we got along well."

"Could she be recently debuted?"

"No, she's quite a bit older than me. Perhaps 24? I did not pry beyond her name."

"What's her surname?"

"Glas, I did not recognise it."

"Nor I, could it be a family that has arisen recently?"

"I'm not sure. She held herself flawlessly."

"Could she have moved recently? Perhaps away with her family through the military? or from another city in the kingdom?"

"I suppose. The white one." said Weiss, naming one of the two nightgowns the handmaiden held.

 


	2. Midnight Snack

         One week after the ball and still Weiss was no more informed about the family Glas. She had searched in the archival books on important families that she had long since stored into memory. Her handmaiden, Margret, had inquired discreetly for her, but none of the staff seemed to recognise the name either. Unwilling to ask a tutor or her father she instead pondered the question of where else to seek answers, circling around the point that a family affluent enough to have a representative at her father's events would need some representation elsewhere. 

         Presently those thoughts led to Weiss lying in bed, the lights off, as she studied the ceiling beyond her range of sight. Sleep had failed to take her away; the decorative clock in the hall ticked away the seconds. Boredom and a need to visit the water closet finally motivated her to toss aside the blankets and slide her legs off the bed. Her hands searched for obstacles as she made her way to the lavatory. With the understanding that sleep would not be coming soon, Weiss pulled her arms through her robe and walked to the kitchens, wincing in the low light of the hallway. 

         Weiss heard a pot being placed on a countertop as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the bright kitchen light. A person, nearly as young as herself, stood patiently with one hand holding a cloth on the pot and the other self-consciously patting a worn uniform dress. Weiss tightened the belt of her robe, then rubbed her eyes with a step forward, greeting the late-night dishwasher with a nod. The nod was returned in kind, the girl turning back to dry the dry pot whilst keeping a cautious watch over the family's eldest daughter. Only slightly more willing to look away, Weiss walked to the large refrigerator. 

         Her eyes kept darting to the dishwasher, unable to look away for more than a few seconds, who seemed unable to look away for even that long as a hand reached blindly for the next wet dish. There was nothing special about this girl, confirmed further with each glance, but something seemed to attract Weiss's attention towards her. Into the category of observations that could be worthy of remark fell the slick dark hair that held tightly to the servant's scalp and followed her jaw over her shoulders likely hanging forward enough to touch clean dishes and counters, and clearly with no attempt made to bind it from falling into food. Yet, that thought did nothing to assuage her interest. Yellow eyes met hers for the briefest of accidents before looking away and finally enabling the girl to take hold of the next wet pan. Weiss placed her hand on the handle of the refrigerator and looked over her shoulder at the other girl.

The dishwasher had turned around, her hands drying the dish autonomously. "Excuse me Miss Schnee, is there anything I can help you with?"

"N-No, I know where they are on my own. Thank you, but please don't allow my presence to interrupt you." replied Weiss. It was her turn to about-face, which she did while opening the door.

         Letting the door rest on a shoulder, she rummaged through a drawer until she grasped her target and backed away, permitting the door to close on its own as she went around the island to reach the sink, so as to not directly pass by the worker. She stole another look at the dishwasher, noting the thinned and faded dress along with the uniform collartie tight around her neck instead of loose at the collarbone, who was reaching for another dish and no longer regarding her employer's daughter so carefully. The cold water turned fresh and Weiss rinsed the apple beneath it; she leaned against the worktop and watched the girl while chewing her first bite. 

         At first the girl seemed to not notice being watched, but with each bite she would glance at Weiss just a bit more frequently. Weiss pretended to examine her apple when she was caught, but it was far too late to be successful at any endeavour of deception. With another furtive glance by the girl she switched from piling dried dishes on the counter to putting them away, taking care to pick the ones that did not belong in the cabinets above or below the sink. Finally, though, the pile of serving spoons needed to be placed in a drawer directly beside the sink. The girl put her hand on the drawer, meeting Weiss's eyes with a smile.

"Hello." said the dishwasher simply, placing the utensils in their slots.

Hastily Weiss chewed and swallowed her most recent bite. "Hello." she said before swallowing once more. "It seems I am at a disadvantage: you seem to know my name while I do not know yours."

The girl's shoulder's pitched forward as she held in a bark of laughter, resulting in something nearly passable as a hiccup, and closed the drawer with her hip. "You may call me Cinder."

"And what of your family name?" asked Weiss.

Cinder turned to her questioner. "Well miss, I don't have much of a family, so what's the use of a family name?"

The crunch of another bite met Cinder in reply, Weiss taking the moment to inspect the apple as her deft fingers rotated what remained. "Not much, I suppose. Is it common for you to be working so late?"

With a step back one of Cinder's hands rose to the worktop with intent to busy herself in work once more, but without follow though it merely rested on the cold stone. "Yes, I start late and work late. There isn't much of a point to be here before the dishes are dirtied."

         Weiss gave a curt nod and took several small bites of the apple, lacking anything to add to the conversation, whilst spinning the core easily in search of gleaning a full bite's worth. Some of the juice slid down her palm; her free hand rose to pull her unbound hair to one side as she leaned forward with her final nibble, allowing the sweet liquid to drip into the sink undeterred by her attempts to drink it in.

Cinder returned to the dishes, drying and stacking plates; when all of them were done she paused, running the rag over her hands. "I was told it was a good schedule for working a bit outside the house, but the pay here suits me just fine and I don't think I could muster the energy for such long days." said Cinder, who while refraining from looking at her conversational partner, instead picked up the plates and easily opened the cabinet. Placing them on the shelf above her head, an action that seemed precarious to Weiss but elicited not a hint of uncertainty from the handler, demonstrated dexterity and experience.

Weiss looked over her apple one last time before tossing it in the bin behind her, underneath the island. "Yeah, I know. There might be time left in the day but even on the days you can't list what you did it can feel impossible to do any more. It might not look that way though . . . looking in." She turned back to the sink, opening the tap.

Cinder's head bobbed, it was slight but gave the impression of understanding more than mere agreement. "What are you doing up?" she asked, offering a clean hand-towel to Weiss who had rinsed her hands and wet her face.

The towel was accepted with a word of appreciation and used to dry her mouth and hands. "I got bored of lying in bed, not sleeping."

"ha, I have those some times too. I just hope it isn't before a busy day. You aren't worried about something for tomorrow I hope?"

"No, it will be fine, nothing more than usual." replied Weiss, noticing how the conversation had begun to come more naturally.

"That's good." Cinder said as she began to drain and clean the dish rack.

Weiss jumped back, a motion of ability as opposed to surprise. "I don't think I've seen you around before, when did you begin working here?" She put her hands on the island behind her and slid up, pulling herself both out of the way and off her feet.

"Some months back, I'm not entirely certain. It was about when it started getting cold last. I'm not surprised we haven't met; I rarely work outside the kitchen and stay out of the way in my off time." Cinder answered as she replaced the rack. She leaned her bottom against the sink, turning to face Weiss, while her hands absentmindedly dried themselves with the damp cloth.

After a moment of consideration Weiss spoke again. "Odd though, I find myself here not infrequently."

"I usually finish earlier," provided Cinder, "and by now would be cleaning visitor areas. I have been behind since that big soiree; it scrambled the schedule and I have been particularly slow with catching up." At that, Cinder promptly turned around, as though suddenly recalling her duties, and begun to wipe down the available surfaces.

Weiss watched her clean the sink, sliding from her perch and taking her towel with her when the other girl turned to the island. "Is there anything I can do to help? I'm sure entertaining me has done nothing good for that schedule."

Cinder stopped, leaving her cloth, and turned to Weiss with a soft shake of her head. "No, that isn't necessary."

"Are you certain? I would hate for my own selfishness to get you into trouble."

Cinder smiled, "Yes, thank you. I participated as much as you here, and I get paid for working. Besides, you have more important things to do," she said, reaching out a finger just below Weiss's chin but never touching, "and those things require sleep."

         She had forgotten that the girl was probably a little older than her, but suddenly that age gap seemed greater; although, as Weiss studied Cinder's face, she couldn't imagine the other girl being more than a couple years older than herself.

Taking a step back with a hand sliding against the cool, stone, worktop, Weiss nodded her head. "I suppose I should go back and try again." She left the towel behind and took a couple of steps toward the door before pausing. "Thank you for talking with me tonight, I enjoyed it. Perhaps again sometime?"

Cinder laughed, "The circumstances of us being together don't seem ideal, given that it's taken half a year and for me to be behind and you to be sleepless, but I wouldn't mind another of these chats."

"Yes, that does seem to be a problem. Under better circumstances next time would be better."

Cinder simply nodded, her expression settling into a passive smile - the kind that creeps up without warning and usually isn't noticed by its wearer.

"Good night." said Weiss, starting to turn back to the door. She was taken aback by how soothing that vague promise seemed.

"Sleep well."

"You too, when you get there." said Weiss, walking out of the room. She felt her face fall, realising only as she passed through the doorway that she had sported a similar smile to that of her companion.

         This time the light of the hallway seemed dim, and the ability to pick out details from the shadowy forms took some adjustment. Weiss attempted to direct her thoughts to sleep and tomorrow, but without intense focus they kept drifting back to the kitchen and that conversation. 'Cinder', the name kept rolling over her thoughts unbidden and unanchored. Despite everything in the room being cold, the refrigerator, the apple, the worktops, the water, the floor, . . . the feeling of a warm blanket or a cup of tea wormed its way into the memory. It was strange, foreign, but nearly familiar although not quite; yet as disconcerting as it was, a part of her wanted that sensation to be there. 

         Weiss found herself sliding back into bed, pulling the covers tightly around her. Cinder was a unique name, not one she could imagine giving a child but the imagery wasn't particularly bad for a name; a small spark that can give life to roaring flames. She was nice enough to talk to, regardless of their differences. It was nice to talk with someone while not performing, like with Margret but without suspicion that she reports back to Father. It was nice, talking to someone who didn't seem afraid or want something, it was almost like . . . almost like . . .


	3. Dinner Time

         Weiss's hands tugged at the hem of her dress; it was just long enough that her upper back rounded for her to reach. Her hands were batted away by Margret, who had walked her to this point where they would part. Instead, her posture straightened and hands switched to smoothing invisible wrinkles in the top part of the garment. This was not an uncommon ritual, perhaps more or less frequent than other households, but eating a meal in the evening together was not a foreign occurrence; in fact, it was most every night, with rarely three missed in a week by her father and nearly never by her mother, sister, and herself.

"Stop that. You look fine." assured Margret despite patting the short sleeves of the dress.

         A deep breath was all the response the handmaiden was given, shaky from the strain of inhaling a bit too much and exhaling a bit too slowly. A hand slid over Weiss's waist and gently pushed against the small of her back as the handmaiden walked behind her, passing the door they had paused before and leaving for the servants' dining room. Weiss stood straighter at the touch, her breath catching and her chest so slightly arcing forward; she settled her body back into its proper stance and raised a hand, resting the palm on the smooth and cool door.

         The dark grain gave way to the warm orange light of the setting sun, angled to fill the room with light but not face in directly in a manner that would be blinding. Dinner time had once followed the sun even as the day length changed through the year, but a few winters ago the time had stopped moving while the sun went to bed earlier and earlier - hiding from the snowy season and necessitating the use of lights in this room. Although decorated with paintings, carved moulding, and a fireplace, there was a modesty exuded from sparsity. What dominated the room was a long wooden table that matched the double doors Weiss had entered from, doors replicated on the same wall but farther down.

         A bouquet of flowers and two empty candelabras were centred on the table. At the end closest to the fireplace and the servant door to the kitchen, only place settings rested atop it. Four places were set, and two occupied, the two beside each other along the long edge opposite the doors. The heiress stepped forward, the sound of the door shutting softly accentuating the sound of one of her footfalls; despite her light gait there was nothing in the room to muffle the noise nor voices to drown it out. A fleeting notion considered just how long her mother and sister had sat quietly, snuffed before a nagging voice could put words in the nascent thought that perhaps it was not so up until her entrance.

As the heiress pulled out her chair her eyes flitted to the empty seat on her right before she sat down. She looked to the remaining vacancy's plate at the head of the table, then her mother's, sister's, and finally her right wrist. "Good evening." she said as the hand she was looking at reached for her water glass and brought it to her lips.

"Yes. Weiss, dear, do be sure to meet your companions' gaze when you greet them, and outside familiar company remember to do so before sitting down." said her mother, upbraiding her eldest in a tone soft enough that it failed to carry throughout the room.

"Yes Mother," replied the heiress, looking up to her mother's face, her own soft - neither drawn nor smiling - whilst her hand deftly replaced the glass. "and with a curtsy too, or at least nothing less than a bow of one's head."

         Her mother smiled and the heiress nodded, leaving her head down to stare the hands clasped in her lap. A moment later she glanced up at Winter, upon which she noticed that the younger girl's attention was toward the far corner of the room. Following the path she raised her head and settled on a painting beside the double doors farther from their end of the table, off-set enough so as to not be in the shadow of the side wall nor obscured were the doors to be propped open. Depicted within the frame was a field of sunflowers under a white-clouded sky, broken by sunlight only toward the back of the field, beyond which the top of the Atlesian skyline was just barely shadowed. She couldn't quite see most of it from her current position, but twas a simple task to fill in the details from memory.

         As the heiress's attention returned to her plate, one hand lifting for the glass of water, the nondescript door on the empty side of the room near the windows opened, revealing the head of the household and closing behind him. She watched him walk along the windows, casting a shadow far larger than his physical presence across the room, matching him better than his silhouette. Hands gripped tightly in her lap, she fought the urge to stand at his arrival. She could hear Winter squirm, a hand flipping a knife over and over again until a clink from a ring touching her sibling's plate indicated her mother's own hand had put an end to the impatient behaviour.

"I hope you did not wait long." said her father only after he was seated. It was a perfunctory comment spoken as he took up his napkin and laid it unfolded upon his lap.

His heiress followed suit with her own napkin, the action not a full step behind him in the process. Her hands smoothed it, her posture subtly taller and stiffer.

"Not at all dear." her mother replied, reaching a hand to rest on his for no longer than a second with a short squeeze in a calculated display of affection.

Displaying restraint one might not expect, Winter did not counter this remark nor complain of her hunger, instead jumping directly into conversation. "How was work today, Father? Did you convince the settlement to acquiesce yet?"

Their father smiled warmly at his youngest daughter, broken only by a laugh.

"Now, honey, there is no need to delve into such colourless topics so quickly." said Mother.

"They aren't!" Winter protested. "I find them positively droll." she said with a self-possessed grin that shined truth on her suggestion of finding negotiations entertaining.

         The protest was paid no mind as the door to the kitchen opened, releasing the tantalising aroma of tonight's courses, and servants entered the hall with a bottle of wine and the salad. Despite no call nor indication of her father's arrival their entrance lacked any delay beyond that necessary to gather their items. Her father was served first, a serving and a half of salad coloured with tomatoes, carrots, and mandarins, then to the left, to her mother and sister. The second waiter poured wine into her parents' empty glasses while the third placed a small basket of warm rolls between them all and took up the salad bowl to serve the heiress. Winter was quick to place her napkin in her lap and begin.

Mother leaned slightly toward Father as she shook her napkin under the table to unfold it. "Her language lesson was taken last today." she explained.

"Ahh, yes, that would explain it." replied Father, he too playing into the game of pretending to be unheard by his daughter. Straightening up he reached for a roll and looked to his salad. "An orange salad tonight?" he asked his wife. The roll tore open between his fingers and he closed his eyes as the steam hit his face.

The heiress looked up from her salad to her sister, surprised at the lack of retort, but pacified by the sight of the younger girl ripping off an almost too large bite of bread and her salad fork already on her plate.

"Yes, with a sweet sesame dressing. Some nights are already beginning to have a bit of a chill so I thought it was something we should try and possibly serve at the upcoming gala." answered Mother before taking her second small bite of it.

Her father readied a large forkful and chewed thoughtfully before examining the wine and tasting it as well. The lull in conversation was filled with sounds of contented consuming, but not to continue forever. "You look well, Weiss." he began, pulling a small piece of bread from his roll. "How were your lessons today?" he asked, experimentally placing the morsel in his mouth as if wary of if being unsatisfactory.

She mentally scolded herself for taking a normal-sized bite of salad and attempted to chew quickly without attracting attention to it. "Thank you Father, I am, and you as well I hope?"

He nodded, his focus returned to the salad.

Weiss sipped her water as he did so, and placed her hands in her lap to clear them of condensation with the napkin. "I am glad. My lessons went well today, thank you for asking. History and Trade Law were the two I gave the most time today."

"How are you taking to Trade Law? Is your tutor putting the agreements in context of the period politics and personal relationships?" asked Father, now looking at her as he drank from his wine glass.

"Yes sir. It is pulling from many ideas from my history lessons and explaining in depth why some things occurred in a way I didn't see before."

"Were there aspects of your history lessons you did not understand previously?" inquired her father, replacing his glass and observing her more closely.

"Oh no, it wasn't that. It- I had questions - " she winced inwardly, struggling to not let it show. Speaking faster than her thoughts rarely went well. "Not questions per se, but it has been explaining why some diplomatic agreements had seemed unbalanced or a person had accepted a deal that was not ideal for the kingdom."

"You hadn't pursued answers when the questions came up?"

"Not questions, more concerns. The rationale was not implausible nor unexplained from the diplomatic angle, however the laws that bound them and the personal implications have cast those decisions in a more full light - I can now more fully appreciate where they came from and that that place was not quite as capricious as I might have thought, as humans are subject to flawed reasoning that would have explained it in a less satisfying manner." Her hand hovered around the stem of her water glass, holding off so as to not indulge nervous behaviour and instead simply waiting for the pause that would indicate permission.

"I see," he replied with another drink of his wine, supplying the requested reprieve. "and your fencing?"

The heiress replaced her glass to the table and hands to her lap. "Yesterday and tomorrow, Father."

"What of your teacher? Have you improved?"

"He is very skilled, and I can see where I had weaknesses that I have moved beyond."

"You bested your previous fencing tutor in two months. How long have you been with this one?"

"He- Yes sir. Six."

         It wasn't in her interest to mention the unequal gaps between them, nor correct her father that it had been closer to three months. The lull in conversation allowing for more eating, she surveyed the table's plates as she chewed. Her mother's salad plate was empty, as was her small bread plate, and she had leaned back to enjoy her wine. Winter, in contrast, was reaching for her second roll. Father ate the last forkfuls of his salad and polished off his wine, as did the heiress although with her water. Waitstaff entered the room as she and her father put down their forks.

"What did you think of the salad, Weiss?" her mother asked.

"It was different but I liked it, although sweet. My favourite is the apple walnut, but that won't be in season for another month."

Her mother smiled then turned to her father. "As for you, dear?"

"It was good, whatever you think will go over best." he said, reaffirming her power over the decision without helping.

         Two of the waitstaff removed the soiled plates and forks, one passing to the other then collecting the red wine glasses. A glance at Winter's plate, with nearly half her small portion of salad remaining, and holding a third roll explained why her opinion wasn't sought; such childish tastes. In a show of honed dexterity a waitress held the entree pan along one arm, a towel draped underneath, and served with the other hand; again, Father was served first then the dish went around to the left while another wine was served and water refilled.

"Winter had some interesting accomplishments today." announced their mother, cutting in to her main course. "She was hitting the 50-metre target with 80% accuracy using the semi-automatic pistol. Her technical writing project and creative writing essay were both returned today with high marks as well."

"The 50 already? I thought you were on the 35." asked their father.

Winter set down what remained of her roll and swallowed. "Correct, but I like to give the others a go at the end, but based on last time I thought I'd try to start there and it went well enough to stay."

"I am very impressed Winter. How are you handling the recoil?"

"Thank you, Father. It has been hard on my shoulders, so Mother suggested I take a couple days off and maybe try a lower caliber for a while as long as I am shooting a lot to learn accuracy instead of merely practicing or building strength." responded Winter. She finished with a large bite of the entree, a chicken breast strongly seasoned in the style of Vacuo.

"I see. What about your writing?" inquired Father, moving on.

"Both of the reviews were favourable, and the reader for the one on the differences of safety features in mining equipment for various types of dust commented surprise upon reaching the end and finding my age. Speaking of, I'm turning 13 in a few months."

"Ah, very well."

Mother placed a hand one Winter's forearm. "Five is closer to 'several' than 'a few'." she corrected, shifting her attention to Father. "How was your day?"

Winter slid her hand from under her mother's on the pretext of picking up her fork. "Still, it is coming up." she continued undeterred.

"Mistral Harbour is adamant on the fee increase still and Bay Port is reluctant to expand enough for real commercial use." he began, pausing to take a drink of his wine. "The increased security on the Vacuo-Vale line transports seems to be helping; there was only one major incident last month and none so far for this month."

"Surely they won't be able to go through with it though, the smaller companies would switch over to Bay easily." offered Mother.

"Weiss was 13 when she debuted." said Winter, trying again.

"Yes, we know dear." said her mother, eyes glancing to the daughter beside her only briefly.

"Theoretically, yes, but they only want us to pay. A report came upon my desk today of information that Harbour is looking into fees by rig size, which fits with the earlier, nebulous look into contracts that would allow different rates for different merchants, and the tax fees that would appeal to the Mistrali government."

Winter continued her own conversation with herself. "But fifteen is the proper age and there were extenuating circumstances. That clearly demonstrates that it wouldn't be unheard of. Winter, it's still early, let's wait until it is closer." said Winter, repeating the remainder of the conversation quietly to her glass of water as she studied it before placing it to her lips.

"How crass. Has your team begun assembling options?" continued her mother, paying no mind to her daughter beyond a flicker of a scowl.

"Indeed, although none yet are terribly promising. Working with the government has proven costly in the past but we have been in contact with our own looking at treaties and agreements."

"There is always the option of simply offering to not supply them at all, but that is nearly as barbaric as their demanding more lien from their largest clients."

"Yes, but if it were to come to that we would follow through and they know that."

"What of the settlement disputing mining rights?"

At this Winter perked up from her concentrated effort to cut her chicken into bite-sized pieces.

"Our representative met with their leader yesterday and the preliminary report was hopeful that he would at least be able to ascertain their goals."

"He? You didn't send Sandra? I thought she was your best for negotiations." questioned Mother.

Father nodded. "She is, but I suspected that some of this may have come about from an illustrious youth mingling with the faunus."

"Oh my, how bothersome."

"Without knowing how involved the settlement has become with the miners -"

"Yes, yes, of course. I see now. What a mess. Who did you end up sending?"

"Henbit. He's good, although odd, but that helps him seem relatable."

"Odd is one way to put it. His views on social structure would half the military if they ever stood a chance. A good fit for this assignment though."

"It has been gaining some traction. Fischer is subscribing to it too, the friend of Kunze."

"Such a backward philosophy; the animals living by it ought to be enough to prove that." groused Mother. "Councilman Kunze? He'll be attending the Gala, I believe."

"Did he RSVP a plus one?"

"I don't recall, do you have someone in mind?"

"Not seriously, but it may be prudent to introduce him to the Brauer girl, the one that debuted earlier this year."

"Mmm, I shall check in to that. The middle child of the . . ."

         The heiress's parents continued, running through names and trading them back and forth. Looking up from her own plate she stole a peek at her sister. An easy smile, hair down but groomed, energetic but respectful, showing interest in the company despite free to choose any topic of study: the perfect, precocious, progeny. Winter placed a small piece of chicken in her mouth, taking care to not let the fork scrape against her teeth, a show for their occupied parents to prove she could eat amongst the public as well as entertain herself in spite of the dulled conversation; she knew this all well, having done the same near that age but less from desire.

         As the heiress was about to turn back to her plate she froze; Winter's eyes had met her own. Surprise, longing, and a not-inconsequential amount of fear rushed over her but before she could react her sister had quickly turned her attention back into the plate. The moment passed and the heiress resumed eating. Winter's fork tapped against the plate, shuffling the food around. Wrapping her fingers around her glass, the heiress found that it was devoid of water.

"Winter, honey," started Mother, "please do not play with your food."

         The fork tapped the plate twice more as the prongs and handle were lightly placed upon it. The rebuke was spoken softly, not just in tone but words too; striking in absence was the lack of additional commentary regarding such behaviour as not being becoming of a young lady, and about the effort that went into preparing the meal from the farm hands to our kitchen staff. Her parents continued to quickly cycle through names and the personal affairs of people for several minutes until two members of the waitstaff reappeared to fill water and wine glasses.

         Water was filled all around, and wine was filled for both parents with a small amount poured for the heiress. Winter's attention, moved from her next forkful of rice, fixed itself upon her sister's second glass. As the waitstaff left, the heiress lifted the new beverage to her face, eyes shifting briefly to check her audience - her father. She inhaled, closing her eyes, and drew her head back up as her hand swirled the light-orange liquid; the smell of apricots offered to distract her from the burning sensation that filled the back of her throat, aided by hints of honey but further hindered by a kick of ginger and an unidentifiable element. That final element, heady and intoxicating, drew her into wanting another whiff but was also nauseating as though a poison all its own, although distinct from the smell of the alcohol itself.

"A tart, dry wine, with strong fruit undertones." she stated, careful to eliminate the rise in intonation that would indicate uncertainty but be necessary in a public setting.

Her father sipped his refilled glass. "Yes." he supplied, but wanting more before displaying his own knowledge.

The heiress gingerly sipped from the glass, conscientious of the mark her lips would leave and fighting to still her facial muscles from revealing her true impressions. "High acidity, medium-bodied, with hints of fruit and minerals without being earthy . . . a Riesling, I suspect."

"Why Riesling?"

"Rieslings are made from grapes that tend to absorb the flavours around them. Although many of the flavours that make this wine complex can be found in others, the hint of minerals from the soil is what gives it away." answered the heiress. The words were ones she had been told on a previous tasting, but still she hid her smile with a second sip and the concentration such an act demanded.

Her father nodded. "Correct. Rieslings reflect their environment, which is most often just to the east of Atlas. These grapes were left until late in the harvest, making it a Spätlese, which gives it a stronger taste good for pairing with spicy dishes. This one was bottled three years ago, from the Brauer company but grown at a small, private, vineyard in the southeast of our kingdom. How would you describe it to a guest or host?"

She finished her small portion with her third taste. "A tart, dry, with an alluring aroma and fruity tones dominated with apricot. I would also mention its age and that it is a local product."

         Her father gave a nod of approval and continued to eat his meal. Twas not long before the entree was completed and the plates were exchanged for dessert, a small cake for each of them. With what could be considered little more than a taste missing from his, her father stood, excusing himself, and left by way of the large doors behind the heiress. The heiress was only a single bite ahead but, after regarding the two plates across from her, allowed another two small ones before following suit and excusing herself from the table. As she rose, she felt Winter's longing gaze upon her father's and her own plates; were this family in any other socioeconomic class she would not hesitate to descend upon them, but as it was Winter limited herself to silent, mournful thoughts of want - of which the heiress herself merely hid better.

         The upcoming gala meant that soon she would have evening lessons with her father's advisers, who would quiz her on the guest list and detail the plan for who she was to meet with and what interactions to facilitate along with the business and news likely to come up in conversation. It had not been mentioned, still a month away, but she knew it would not be long before her evenings of private studying were temporarily made shorter once more. She stopped outside her bedroom door, looking further down the hall. She should practice her singing tonight, as her teacher would be coming in two days, but the call of her empty room was strong so she resolved to work on outlining her trade law research assignment first.

 

         Weiss fell upon her bed when she returned to her room several hours after dinner. It was late, as was chimed to her as she strode down the corridor. She had excused Margret when she left to sing, telling the handmaiden that she need not wait up for her so long as tidying the room was attended to first. Although typically viewed as an exception, the handmaiden still had two eyes with which to watch Weiss's every move; performing constantly the role in which she was placed felt tiring but only when removed, which had hit her when she first sat down at her desk earlier. Presently, she kicked off her slippers and struggled to remove her dress before conceding and rising to a stand. Treading lightly she washed up for the night before falling back atop her blankets and wriggling until she was under them in the short time she had before being overtaken by sleep.

* * *

         Weiss awoke, her body stiff, listening carefully. She could swear she heard the bed bouncing and it felt as though she had just fallen into it from several metres above. And yet, as the sound and bouncing faded it was more than just reaching equilibrium, as if the time was blurring the memories until it was a simple matter to accept that the movement and sound had purely been products of imagination. Settled, the next sensation was the pounding in her ears and chest as her heart awakened just as abruptly.

         What had it been? Children? A memory? A sensation from between her lower ribs pulled straight through her middle and into the bed, begging her to return to the dream. Weiss closed her eyes and desperately grasped at the quickly fading threads. Winter? Oh, that one. Why did I wake up? The bookcase fell over. No, not this time. This time it was the walls. Her conscious mind searched for answers, but the pull was to the feelings long lost - emotions forgotten from another life. The walls fell on me as mother pulled her out of the room, and that is why I awoke. The walls came in because father didn't want me to follow. I was to stay.

         She rolled over, trying to hold on to the first part, replaying the earlier memory of what once was and could have been, but each time there would be a bookshelf looming from the side, threatening to inflict a similar end.


	4. Dishes

          Weiss had been down to the kitchen on other nights and, as told, found it empty each time her restlessness guided her path. Tonight, though, she had never tried to sleep, intentionally setting out earlier in the hopes of finding a person in particular. She stood, leaning against the wall outside the kitchen door, listening. The water turned on, metal scraped against metal, then water pounded it, a pause, and finally the pot was set upon the other dishes to start drying. As Weiss exhaled, she felt her face settle, softening into a more personable expression without a thought.

          Cinder turned, investigating the singular sensation of being watched, and froze in surprise to find that there was someone in the doorway with a hand stretched behind her to hush the closing door. A moment for recognition to settle in as the door finished closing was all it took for a smile to spread over Cinder's face and her hands to reach for a towel.

Weiss stepped forward. "Hello." she spoke softly, as if a natural volume at this time in the evening would sound an alarm to rouse the whole house.

"Good Evening." replied Cinder. Her tone was less tentative, easily forgetting the dishes, but she only took three steps, enough to get around the island.

          A reticence settled between them. Both paused, recalling their previous encounter and hoping for the same but unsure what the other would accept. Weiss's hesitation broke the impasse the other seemed unwilling to risk. The dishwasher lowered her gaze, without fixing upon anything in particular, and grasped the bottom of her dress as she bent her knees.

"Ms. Schnee. How may I be of assistance?" asked Cinder, taking up the formality in the absence of anything different from her visitor.

Weiss stood up straighter, but did not let her disappointment show. "Cinder, was it?" she asked, unsure of how to return to the recalled informality. The name still felt odd, despite how many nights she had sought out the other girl.

"Yes ma'am." said Cinder, now standing once more but supplying a slight bow of her head with her answer.

Weiss paused, but her hesitation was brief. She attempted to return to the natural smile which had vanished when named formally. "Please, call me Weiss here. I came hoping to see you again." She could see the demeanour of the other girl soften, even hints of the first smile reappearing on her face. Weiss returned it in kind, her own shoulders rounding to a more relaxed state.

          Still, Cinder waited as though Weiss had yet to formally end her turn. Weiss lifted an arm, not high, with a motion toward Cinder, but quickly let it fall to her side and leaned back slightly. Uncertainty filled her being and shone through every small movement and delay. So desperately did she want to regain the feeling from the first meeting, but fear of ruining it held her back. Perhaps not being satisfied with the one memory was a mistake. Despite all of this, something had driven her to come back, not just this once but multiple times. Something familiar and yet altogether distant.

"Would you care to eat an apple with me?" Weiss finally asked.

To her relief Cinder gave a small bounce as pivoted on a foot, turning toward the fridge. "Certainly!" she replied, a smile evident in her voice. She had a hand upon the fridge handle before Weiss could take a step.

          She stopped behind Cinder just in time to catch an apple tossed over the slightly older girl's shoulder. A sound of surprise escaped her, followed by a terse laugh. Cinder closed the door of the fridge as she turned around, then walked past Weiss pausing only to glance over her shoulder to ensure Weiss would follow. Weiss turned the apple over in her hand noting that it was neither yellow nor red but a mix of both, reminiscent of a sunrise, as her feet slowly moved to follow. Cinder slid herself up on the counter of the island, as it had already been cleared off, the action repeated with little delay by Weiss.

"The prettiest ones are the sweetest." explained Cinder, ripping a large bite from hers.

          Weiss raised an eyebrow, looking over the imperfections once more with skepticism. The words seemed to be more of a generalisation referring to one type of apple than a rule. She cared not for being rude, and a sweet apple did seem more appealing this night than a crisp, tart one. Settling in, the only sound between them was that of chewing; Weiss tried to take comfort in it and felt compelled to say something but lacked any inspiration. Watching Cinder, she got the impression it was only her that felt the silence was lacking.

          Cinder was the first to finish, not savouring each bite and carefully drinking in the sweat juice as Weiss was prone to do. She slid off the countertop and tossed what remained of her core, little more than the seeds, in the bin then washed her hands. Cinder had moved back to rinsing dishes by the time Weiss was done with her apple; it was pitched into the garbage only after a pause to consider how much more remained on her core, and a few more scrapes of it against her teeth.

"I am glad that you have gotten caught up." stated Weiss as she stood beside and slightly behind Cinder, waiting for a pause to rinse her hands.

"Yep. Just in time to start preparing for the next party." replied Cinder, a lift in her voice indicating amusement. She took a step back from the still-running water, hands held aloft and twisted to avoid dripping, with smile for Weiss.

"I know." said Weiss, stepping forward. She pictured an expression of surprise from Cinder. "In just a few nights I will start preparing as well. Extra evening lessons just for the gala."

          Weiss stepped back, Cinder sliding into place in front of the sink, and Weiss in turn strode behind her to stand by her other side where the hand-towel had been left. Cinder placed a pot atop the pile, which was stared at by Weiss until the next was nearly done before picking it up with the towel and starting to dry it. Cinder glanced over, eyes just a little wider, but kept it brief and finished the pan. The sound of water stopped when the pan was placed on the pile, attracting Weiss's attention. Cinder met her gaze with a grin of amusement and reached toward the pot.

"That might work for drying, but I'm not a perfect washer." began Cinder, slipping her hands into the towel over Weiss's.

          Weiss released the dish and pulled her hands back as Cinder took it, surprised at the touch. The hands had felt rough, but as she watched Cinder use the towel to chip off a missed particle of food and wipe it away she realised they had not felt rough but merely dry, her hands dotted by the small cuts one would normally not need to worry about for a few more months.

"See?" asked Cinder, holding the pot to display it. "The soap and hot water already made them clean, but they need to look the part too." she explained, handing it back to Weiss.

          Weiss examined the pot carefully before setting it down farther along the counter, separate from the still-drying ones. Cinder had already moved on to rinsing the next when Weiss reached for the pan. Pockmarked with glances at each other, the two continued to work in line quietly to the tune of running water and stacking metal. Getting close to overtaking Cinder when utensils came up, Weiss reached for a long carving knife as Cinder shifted to place it on the mat. They both felt it, the blade going through resistance directly after their hands brushed and missed each other. It fell to the mat, both girls drawing their hands close to themselves.

"Are you okay?" Weiss asked quickly, her right hand holding the wrist of her left from reaching out as she quickly voiced her concern.

“Yes, it – it wasn't my hand.” replied Cinder, slowly turning around. Her hands reached for Weiss's. “My hand was on the flat side, not the sharpened one. Let me see yours.” she said with concern. Weiss let her hands be drawn apart as Cinder took them, eyes scanning both as her adroit fingers turned them over, leaving Weiss to watch as each line of her hands was followed and discounted.

“It didn't cut me.” Weiss said, her words halting and soft with doubt. Her own attention turned toward Cinder's hands, as she attempted to pull away but was held in place. With slight twists of her wrists she led Cinder's hands to turn, seeing small abrasions where the dry skin had cracked but nothing from a knife.

          Confusion began to settle over Weiss, doubt that perhaps it had been her hand; certainly the feeling was not imagined if they both noticed it. The feel of Cinder's tight grasp, and light fingertip touches became distracting; she noticed that those hands were soft, under the dry and cracked exterior. It was a strange feeling and Weiss's every fiber wanted to pull away yet she held back the impulse, some feeling she couldn't quite put to words acting as a quiet whisper to let it be for a moment.

"I have aura, everyone does, but mine's unlocked, the thing hunters use." began Weiss, her rush injuring her usually stiffly structured sentences. “Perhaps it was me and that's what we both felt.” she suggested, then paused for a brief moment, looking to Cinder for recognition as her tongue played with the odd feeling left by the contractions of which it just now took note.

          Cinder remained focused on Weiss's hands, her eyes tracing the lines and creases. It felt foreign, to have this contact, to have someone so fixated on any part of her and not offering instruction. Surely the servant girl would have satisfied herself with her first look, but perhaps she had never before seen an aura heal a cut. A bead of water from Cinder's hands fell across the back of Weiss's but neither seemed to have noticed.

"Once aura is unlocked, and given circumstances in which one has not exhausted the ability, minor injuries are absorbed by it before they reach the user. Surprise can sometimes allow something to get through, but if a hunter is harmed it is usually from a stronger attack which is why evasion and parrying are still important in training." recited Weiss.

          The niggling familiarity of this closeness, Weiss decided, was similar to how it felt when the multitude of dance partners would clasp her hands but unclouded by the list of duties that went along with that. Cinder finally released Weiss's hands, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to the sink with a mumble of apology. Weiss took a moment to examine the hand as well, tracing the ghost of Cinder's touch before picking up the towel. They continued, but the silence now felt heavier. Both took more care with adding to and taking from the wet pile, watching the other's movements and reaching far more slowly.

"What do you like most to do when not working?" asked Weiss, not looking up from the cutting board she was towelling off. She felt that she may have asked it last time, but was at a loss for any other ideas with which to break the reverie.

"hmm?" Cinder's head quickly turned to her companion, "Oh, I - um - I like books, reading, and do quite a bit of mending and alterations." she answered. A dull thud came from the sink as a bowl slid from her fingers under the water. "to clothing."

"What type of books?"

"I read a lot of magazines, but sometimes a history-based novel or such catches my attention." Cinder elaborated, her words less jumbled and the slight colour of her face fading back to normal. “What about you?”

“I . . . mostly just work on my lessons even after my tutors are gone. I do have a fondness for the history sections that cover specific battles and delve into the people involved.”

“Do you have a favourite era?”

“Well,” Weiss thought about it for a moment as she traded a dry spatula for a serving spoon. “if I had to choose, probably the nomadic groups that carried information, customs, and had great influence on the settlements and how they were run. They did a lot for causing outcroppings to work on serious fortifications instead of hoping they could just swing tools at grimm and be fine - not all grimm fell with that and settlements in turn fell frequently.” She thought for a moment, a comfortable silence threatening to settle in, “However, there is not much on record about the pre-war era so much of it is speculation or childrens' tales.”

Cinder barked a short laugh, “Of course. How unfortunate that those with power knew how to control information and the people. 'History is written by the victors' after all, or at least erased. It seems the winners of the war learned well from their predecessors.”

“hmm?” Weiss turned, leaning her side against the counter as she stopped. “What do you mean?” she asked, getting the impression that there was something more there, something worth exploring.

“About history, or about the winners of the war?”

“The second one. Or both.”

“I suppose one answer includes the other.” began Cinder, drying her hands on her skirt as she too took a break. “As the oppressed majority demanded the freedom of individuality and asserted their will of a relaxed law, they took up arms against the rulers, follow?"

Weiss nodded, too busy trying to predict where this was going to respond properly.

"When they won, they were free to write their own texts and accounts, versions that did not laud the old powers, but instead praised those without power for wresting it from the cruel. At first the masses willingly destroyed the old books, but then harbouring them, at least in some places, was seen as being an opponent of the new governments."

"Those books were biased, lies to placate the people and make them accept their status."

"Ah, yes, but the best lies are built with truth. Who was in power, and exaggerated accounts of how that came to be, along with hints of the reasoning behind their strict laws and even some knowledge of the land and science was in them. They learned how to use the people themselves to root out and destroy it from the previous government who likewise had destroyed any works that displayed individuality or self-governance."

"The winners get to write the story . . . " Weiss repeated.

          They worked a little longer, Weiss completing her second stack of dry dishes and beginning a third that threatened to encroach upon the wet pile. Before long the third stack competed with the first two, and despite her care when she attempted to place a saucepan atop it the formerly stable dishes shifted as though ready to slide down and clatter to the floor. Weiss scrambled to steady them all but was left with no hand free to adjust them properly. Cinder was beside her in a moment, arms reaching through to pull the worst agents of chaos away. As Cinder regained control Weiss cautiously slid away, watching deft hands pulling dishes away and piling them far more tightly in bundles then placed them on the island.

“You should teach me how to rinse the dishes.” said Weiss after Cinder had returned to the sink and herself to drying.

"Of course, Miss Schnee." replied Cinder, her words sharp, before she spun to face Weiss without removing her hands from the sink and gave a small bow of her head.

“I did not mean it like that.” Weiss replied quickly, nervously backpeddling, “It is just that you know where things go, so it would be more efficient for you to show me how to rinse so you are free to put the dishes away.”

"Ah, I see how it is." Cinder's mouth stretched, the smile reaching through her cheeks into her eyes. "You want to hurry up and finish so you don't have to be around me too much longer, yes?"

"What? N-no that's not it at all!" claimed the younger of the two in a voice too meek to suit her insistence. About her hands the towel had become tightly twisted and colour had spread across her face.

"Oh?" pressed Cinder, her right hand dropping to her side and left trailing across the counter as she stepped closer, mindless of the drips from her right hand and letting the water from her left help it glide. "Is it that you wish to help create some free time for me and use it up yourself, privately?"

Weiss could feel the red in her face burning through, her expression revealing just as much as her uncomfortable smile broke through and rose her cheeks enough to encourage her eyes to close. She felt all this coming and turned away quickly, her hands rising to meet her lowered face and bury it in the towel. "N-No. No, it is nothing of the sort.” she managed, starting to question how her actions might have looked, but also starting to wonder if it was a joke. 'Could it be some sort of trick, was someone else watching?' She could hear Cinder starting to laugh, how funny it must be to fluster the prim and proper heiress taught to be perfect from childhood. Perhaps it was too much to seek out companionship without a guise - it would never do to have it so easily gotten around. No, this was just a servant, not someone waiting on the sidelines for me fall so that they might take my place.' A thought of Winter flashed in her thoughts. 'Although, a servant has all the more reason to want to see the faults.'

Cinder was fully laughing in short order, but it must not have been as fun with her toy's reaction hidden, given that she tapped Weiss's shoulder to bring her back around. "Okay, okay, I'll stop now." Laughing had left the older girl's face redder than the other's, and her eyes watery, but it had been reined in to something nearly like a hiccup.

Weiss turned and saw this. "Really?" she asked, more drained than she would care to admit from the exchange and late hour.

          Cinder snapped into a sloppy mockery of the Atlesian military salute. The pose had more in common with television than reality, but even then was clearly a parody of it. Contrastingly, it was underpinned with some posture correction and a rather stiff arm as a drop of water led a trail down Cinder's face.

"Yes Ma'am!" declared Cinder forcefully.

          There it was again. There was something about the way this common phrase was spoken. So different did it sound from the way Margret recited it. Articulate, spoken as two separate words instead of slurred together. So that was it, how curious, although she had worked in the house for nearly a year so the words might not yet have lost their meaning to her. The mirth in Cinder's face betrayed the facade of the farce, though, which was promptly broken in full when she laughed herself out of the pose, bent forward with her arms around her sides.

"Are you done yet? The dishes are still laying out and if they are to be put away I ought to learn how to rinse the few that remain." asked Weiss, only residual blush remaining on her face.

          Seeing something serious in Weiss's face, however, Cinder stopped long enough to stand back up and make a grand show of a low bow, one arm in front, and another against her back - the masculine bow of the upper class reserved for formal events in modern times, although not a strict re-creation.

“Certainly m'lady.” said Cinder, her laughter gone but playfulness remaining. She straightened back up, "Such work should be left to the servants, not to soil your hands with menial toil, but your wish is as good as command.”

          Cinder soon had Weiss rinsing on her own, while she herself moved about shuffling pans and putting plates in cupboards. It had not taken long for the mood to shift into a less energetic and more mutually comfortable state. Soon the dishes are all dry and away, and to her shame Weiss discovered she was squeamish about cleaning out drains, much to Cinder's amusement until an errant swing of the catch resulted in her wiping up the floor.

"I suppose we should be parting now." Weiss suggested without conviction.

"Yes." agreed Cinder. "I suppose this is our last encounter until after the gala?"

Weiss nodded. "Mm-hm."

"Thank you for making time to come down tonight." said Cinder, her fingers intertwined and gaze averted in a way that could be considered almost demure.

Weiss was surprised, but merely smiled. "I am glad I did. It was nice to see you." She walked to the door but paused before she let it shut behind her. "Good luck with the gala preparations." she offered, turning towards Cinder as she did so. She was met with a forlorn smile in return.

"And to you as well, Miss Schnee." Unlike before, it was not said formally but in a light-hearted, resigned way that conveyed understanding that Weiss would have to work to prepare for it too.

 

          Weiss entered her room, and with curiosity touched her cheek with her hand. The skin was warm, and she could feel it raised with the natural smile. Surely Margo would be asking her again tomorrow what had her so content, or as the handmaiden would describe it "radiating energy like the sun in the afternoon after a fresh snowfall."


End file.
